


The Pick-up

by the17stairs



Category: Good Omens (TV), The Librarians (TV 2014)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 17:35:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19728472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the17stairs/pseuds/the17stairs
Summary: The Delivery Man is still dead. Aziraphale arranged someone else to pick up his flaming sword (amongst other things) instead.





	The Pick-up

_When the candlestick phone rang, the silver-haired man who was running an analysis on the latest acquisition of his workplace did not expect anything more than a "quick question, Jenkins"._

_"Colonel, what is your rapid query this time?"_

_Not a soft voice he had not heard in a millennium and a half but that's what at the other end of the phone._

_"I'm afraid I am no Colonel, we don't do ranks that way but is - is this the library? The Library with the big L?"_

_"Aziraphale?" He could be wrong, the accent was not what he remembered. Then again, time changed, no one spoke in that kind of Celtic accent anymore._

_The pause went on longer than he had hoped, he was beginning to count his everlasting heartbeats, with the receiver stuck to his ear (and actually starting the process of staying there for the foreseeable future)_

_The other side came back eventually, his voice took on the lilt that wrapped the man standing in the Library with the big L in a violent jolt of nostalgia,_ "Galeas?"

...

"Angel, tell me again why are we sitting here with the talismans of the four horsemen of the apocalypse?" Crowley asked with a wine bottle in hand, sprawling on the wooden bench outside of the village church.

"Waiting, for a bus, for starters." The angel Aziraphale answered with another tug on his waistcoat.

"We are not bringing the box back to mine, on a bus." He made a face at his companion, adding with a soft voice, "you don't have a bookshop to go back to either."

"No," he sighed as he imagined the ruin that was once his pride and joy, "so I made some arrangement. Back when before everything got too heated."

As if on cue, the church entrance lit up with a blinding light and a man stepped through. "I really hope I am not late again this time," he muttered all the way across the courtyard.

"Speak of the devil." Aziraphale adding hastily after noticing the single raised eyebrow from his...drinking companion, "metaphorically, I don't have any other acquaintance from your side."

"No sides, remember? So who is he?"

"He's from the Library."

Crowley cracked an incredulous grin, " _The_ Library? That Library with all the magical artifacts?” He actually laughed, “I ran into their lot a few times, mostly the 1890s. They kept saying I am using magic to destroy the world."

"Well did you?"

"For the last time, I am not responsible for getting Arthur Conan Doyle to kill off Sherlock Holmes. I wanted to read more of them!"

"Huh," Aziraphale's eyes flitted between the approaching figure and Crowley, "I think he might have a grudge even longer than that."

The man was even taller than he had assumed from afar, Crowley noted idly as he came to a stop before the bench. And older too, if the head full of silver hair was any indication.

"Sir Aziraphale." He had a deep voice, with a three-piece suit that rivalled Aziraphale's in fashion. The way he held himself put him back a few more centuries.

Crowley watched his friend bounced to his feet with a wide grin, "Galahad! Just plain ol' Aziraphale these days."

Oh. _Oh_.

"They call me Jenkins now and truth be told, I have grown quite fond of it." Sir Galahad, no, Jenkins bowed his head politely in greeting to Crowley.

"Oh! This is Crowley, my, uh, well - " Aziraphale started wringing his hands so Crowley decided to help. In his own way.

"I am the Black Knight." He supplied cheerfully.

"The Black - !" Jenkins' face went through several expressions and settled on a completely put upon, 'why is this happening to me' face. "You are a demon."

"A demon that helped to stop the world from ending, you are welcome."

"My colleague had started calling it the _Armageddon't_." Jenkins was still scowling but Crowley knew that he was no longer the reason for it.

Before he could suggest the term _Almost-pocolypse_ , Aziraphale clapped his hands together lightly, drawing their attention back to him. There was a sword still on the bench, after all, better not risk them drawing swords on each other.

"So back to the matter at hand, Ga - Jenkins. The reason you are here."

"Yes, to take the Talismans into the Library's care, as per our agreement of non-involvement." He gestured to the box on the bench.

"For which we are very grateful," Aziraphale sent a well-timed glare at Crowley, even though the latter shrugged. Anything to keep these things away from his place and his plants.

"In that case, one last thing, the paperwork for artifact deposit." Jenkins took out a sheet of paper from within his coat and there, he had officially lost Crowley's interest.

Even Aziraphale looked slightly disappointed, "paperwork?"

He waved a hand through the air, "Some basic personal information, who to contact if anything happens to them. He suddenly paused and looked...embarrassed, if a 1500-year-old man could still feel embarrassment, "and perhaps we could...have a chat? You have always been kind to me, back in the days. And we have all lived through a lot of days now."

Aziraphale thought of what happened after he had left abruptly, having overstayed his welcome in Wessex. Camelot's fall, Mordred's betrayal, Arthur's death, the poor boy must have watched more friends and family died since then. He had thought it was the ineffable plan back then, at least that was what assuaged his guilt as he rode away to France.

In the end, he gave Jenkins a warm smile, taking the paper and pen he offered and began to fill it in. 

"Of course, I have a bookstore in London, you are always welcome to have a cup of tea."

"Angel - " Crowley started with an impossibly soft voice.

The smile slipped off his face, "oh right, not anymore. Got burned down."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Jenkins grimaced sympathetically and knew better than to offer anything more than that.

"We'll be fine." Crowley heard the rumbling of an engine approaching, "our bus is here."

"It said Oxford at the front," Aziraphale turned his head to the direction of the bus as well.

"Yeah, but he'll drive to London anyway."

"I - " Aziraphale stopped at the gentle shake of Crowley's head, "Okay."

"I guess this is goodbye." Jenkins nodded.

"For now, I know who to call if I have more doomsday devices."

"Come on Angel, we have a bus to catch." Crowley held up a burned piece of paper as he stood up.

"See you later, Aziraphale." Jenkins held out a hand carefully and he shook it just as carefully. For a moment, it felt like being basked in sunlight.

"Until next time, Jenkins."

...

Only one person was in the Annex when Jenkins stepped through the door.

"Colonel." He whispered, gently putting the box on his desk and the paperwork on the stacked pile of documents.

"Got everything?" Eve Baird, the Library's Guardian, got off her perch on her desk and walked towards him.

"A balancing scale, a tarnished crown, and a flaming sword. All accounted for." He rested a hand on the lid of the box, "best not open the box again."

"I thought there were four of them."

"Death is not going to be stopped, ever. He is everywhere so his symbol of power will follow him."

It was too late for any more questions about the artifacts unless she was preparing for an endless night. Since she was not a Librarian and thus had the ordinary, healthy sense of time, she changed the topic. "You okay?"

"Everything's fine, Colonel. It's just..." He sighed, "It's not every day you found out a brother in arms is still alive after so long. Let alone he is a celestial being - an angel - far older than you."

"It's not every day you hear the sentence 'Apocalypse is happening in two days, don't do anything.' either," she gave him a consoling smile.

He shook his head, this time to shake away her concern. "Thank you for all of your cooperation, and faith."

"Anything for our caretaker. After all the bruises and scrapes you patched up, it's the least we can do."

"Can you stop Mr Jones from referring to this event as the _Armageddon't_?" He gave her a pained smile.

"Can we stop Ezekiel from doing anything?" She asked back.

"Point taken." Jenkins inclined his head in acknowledgement.

"Well, you've got a friend back so you win some, I suppose."

He still looked thoughtful. "Perhaps you are right."

"Jenkins?"

"I think he is in love with a demon." He lifted the box up, ready to archive it without probing any of the content. "Or at the very least the demon is in love with him."

What a strange few days indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> This started after seeing Aziraphale and Crowley in 537 AD with "Sir Aziraphale of the Table Round", then it turns into What If Jenkins Finally Has A Friend Back From Camelot Who Is Not Trying To Kill Him/Attack His Workplace and Family/Destroy Reality.
> 
> All the thanks go to Regency and CommamderInChief for making sure I didn't make a fool of myself.


End file.
